


Contact

by StarMaamMke



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Major Season Two Spoilers, NSFW, Oral Sex, Sex Sex, Smut, mention of rough sex, post s2 canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-01-26 03:50:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12548192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarMaamMke/pseuds/StarMaamMke
Summary: Joyce's grief manifests itself in a curious way and she wants someone to help. Hopper just wants her to feel better through any means necessary.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first Post Season Two fic! Major MAJOR spoilers ahead. Turn back now if you are not caught up.

It was almost embarrassing, how soon after watching her boyfriend get ripped to shreds by those dog-like creatures, Joyce Byers began to once again feel that pool of desire low in her belly. No, it was embarrassing, because took little more than a month.

 

It gets easier every day, Hop had said. _It_ not _her_. The paralyzing, killing grief, the pain- that was supposed to get better in little increments, but it wasn’t. She woke up every night, clawing at her sheets and screaming until her throat was raw from the effort, because every night she was back in the lobby of the laboratory watching it happen. Sometimes, her legs would go heavy and lead-like in the dream, and Hopper wasn’t able to pull her away from the sight, so she had to watch it all and scream and scream.

 

So, that wasn’t getting easier at all. But the need for contact; to be held and caressed and fucked? When she wasn’t dreaming about watching Bob Newby die, she was dreaming about their more intimate moments, and similar moments with Lonnie and Hopper. Bob had been about as considerate a lover as he had been a person, so Joyce had no complaints when he was alive. It was a nice, physical representation of the devotion he expressed with every action and word in their day-to-day existence. Sweet and satisfying, but not terribly intense. Lonnie had been intense in the beginning, but lazy and withholding when things became routine. Hopper had been… well, they had both been young and energetic the last time they had come together. Their lovemaking had reflected their personalities; reckless and dizzying.

 

Joyce usually woke up crying from frustration after those dreams. It had taken three nights of consecutive wet dreams before she even attempted to quell her shame long enough to bring herself off with her right hand- her left stifled her moans as she writhed shamelessly on her cold bed. She felt less guilty when her mind flew to times with Bob- she still felt terrible, but not as terrible as she did when the memory of Hopper going down on her in the empty band classroom trickled into her subconscious.

 

 _Those_ nights certainly made her days more awkward. It was not unusual for Joyce to find herself at Hopper’s grandad’s old cabin two or more times a week with Will and Jonathan’s old textbooks, or homework she had stealthily obtained from the Middle School Xerox machine when picking up Will.

 

“If she can’t truly come out of hiding for a year, she had to spend that time catching up with people her age, Hop,” Joyce had lectured, the first time she stepped into the cabin with a cardboard box filled to the brim with books. She liked to check on the girl’s progress regularly, to make sure that El was doing more than staring at the TV day in and day out.

 

“I can’t believe you let her watch Soap Operas. That junk is going to rot her brain and mess with the way she perceives relationships,” Joyce lamented one afternoon, as she and Hopper stood on the front porch of his cabin, sipping coffee and smoking cigarettes. Joyce had quit when she started dating Bob, but she had fallen back into, as she had many, many times before. “I thought you smoke Marbs, by the way,” she observed, studying the Camel light pinched between her thumb and forefinger.

 

“I switched brands ages ago. I can’t really mess with Cowboy Killers anymore.” Hopper jerked his head towards a nearby window. Joyce peered through it to see El sitting in front of the television. She smirked.

 

“All cigarettes are bad, Hop. Not just those ones.”

 

“Yeah, well…” he trailed off and gave her a quick and concerned look up and down. “How are you holding up today?”

 

Joyce shrugged and lied. “Better.”

 

“Have you been sleeping?” His eyes were fixed on her face, and she knew her pasty pallor and the dark smudges under her eyes told him the story she was unable to vocalize. She broke under the intensity of his stare and stifled a sob with her hand.

 

“N-no,” she stammered as she squeezed her eyes shut so she couldn’t see the pity shining in Hopper’s kind, heavy-browed face. “Not since before that night,” she sighed, jerking her shoulder away from his large, comforting hand. “All I see is him getting ripped apart, and I’m so tired, Hop.” Her cigarette fell from nerveless fingers as she turned her back to him, let her arms dangle useless and lifeless at her sides as she fought back the exhausted tears that were falling like rain. She hated letting people see her cry, and lately it was a somewhat regular occurrence.

 

“Jonathan home with Will?” Hopper inquired, stepping forward so she could feel his warmth blocking the winter wind without any part of him actually touching her. The low timbre of his voice caused an involuntary shiver to run down her spine, even as his question confounded her.

 

“Yes, why?”

“Call them and tell them you’ll be home later tonight.” Hopper turned and opened the front door of the cabin. “Kid, I’ll be back later tonight,” he announced to El. The girl turned and studied both him and Joyce with her large, intelligent brown eyes.

“A date?” the inquiry was soft, with the barest upward inflection. Joyce blushed furiously at the implication and shifted her weight from her right foot to her left as she studied the warped plank of wood beneath her.

“An errand,” Hop clarified, casting Joyce an apologetic look. “Do you want anything while I’m out?”

 

“Moosetracks.”

 

Joyce smiled. “That’s my favorite ice cream,” she admitted, poking her head through the door.

 

“I know,” El stated matter-of-factly. “It’s so we have it here for you. Nancy says chocolate helps when you’re sad, and you’re always sad.”

 

“Okay, kiddo, good talk,” Hopper announced abruptly, closing the door and placing one gentle hand on the middle of Joyce’s back and leading her to his Blazer.

 

“Where are we going?” Joyce asked as he assisted her into the passenger’s seat.

 

Hopper walked around the front of the Blazer and climbed into the driver’s side. “Taking you to my trailer so you can get a nap in.”

 

Joyce just shook her head and studied her hands as they lay clasped in her lap. “That won’t help, everytime I close my eyes --”

 

“I know. Would it help if I took a nap with you?” Joyce jerked her head up and gave him a wide-eyed look as her breath caught in her throat. “Okay, maybe that was a little presumptuous. I just know I always used to sleep easier when I was sharing a bed. My other thought was to just give you someone place quiet to-”

 

“You can take a nap with me, Hop.”

 

_________

 

The trailer was clean, but almost bare. Most of Hopper’s furniture had been moved to the cabin, but there was still a neatly made king-sized bed in one corner of the bedroom.

 

“I’m mostly here when I need someplace quiet to think, and the bed's too big for the extra room at the cabin. It’s comfy though, I really miss sleeping on it every night.” Hopper sat down and patted the mattress with a dopey little grin.

 

Joyce gave him a trepidatious little smile and sat down next to him so she could remove her shoes and work vest. She thought it over for a moment before reaching one hand behind her back to unclasp her bra through the material of her blouse. Hopper’s jaw dropped slightly before he looked up at the ceiling as she maneuvered to push down the straps and pull the bra safely through one sleeve and place it on the ground. It wasn’t the sexiest of underthings, but Hopper’s eyes travelled downwards to study it as it lay, a slightly faded white bit of cotton with a tiny pink bow between the two cups.

 

“It’s really uncomfortable to sleep in one of those,” Joyce explained apologetically before crawling up towards the headboard and resting onto her side, facing the opposite wall, her head sinking into one fluffy, white pillow.

 

“I wouldn’t know. I like to keep mine free and unbound,” Hopper joked, scooting up near Joyce and resting on his back, his fingers steepled as his hands rested on his stomach. He turned his head towards her and smiled softly as she snorted and rolled her eyes at his comment.

 

“You’re ridiculous,” she teased, reaching out to rest one hand on his chest as her eyes grew heavy. He took her hand and raised it to his lips, giving it a chaste kiss before placing it back on his chest. She felt a curious warmth in her heart that radiated throughout her body at the sweet gesture. She was smiling as she closed her eyes.

 

When Joyce awoke, she realized that she had scooted closer to Hopper in her sleep; in fact, she was flush against his side with one leg thrown over his and her left hand clutching the material of his henley as it rested against his chest. He had one hand in her hair as he snored softly, and one hand resting between her shoulderblades.  She was mortified when she realized her center was aching and throbbing with want as it pressed against his denim clad thigh. It had been a Hopper dream that had woken her up. This one was not a memory but a very vivid fantasy involving handcuffs and hair pulling as Dream Jim grunted against her neck and thrust into her drenched folds.

 

She rolled away from Hopper so sudden that it gave him a violent start, pulling him from his slumber. “What happened? Are you okay?” he asked, scooting closer to her so he could pull her back into his arms.

 

“It’s late,” Joyce squeaked, sitting up and turning away.

 

Hopper leaned forward to grab the alarm clock that was sitting on the table on Joyce’s side of the bed. “You’ve only been asleep for an hour. Is that going to be enough?” he inquired groggily. She said nothing, but pulled her knees up against her chest and stared at the wall. “Hey- was it the nightmare again?” He sat up next to her and put an arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss against the top of her head. She leaned into his touch, reveling in his warmth and strength.

 

“No.”

 

“Talk to me, Joyce.”

 

The barrier of decency within her broke, and in a quick maneuver, Joyce pulled herself onto his lap, straddling him as her arms went about his shoulders and her lips came crashing down against his. Hopper’s mouth was stiff and unyielding beneath hers for a split second before he gave a little moan, brought one hand up to cup the back of her head, and the other to stroke her back as his lips parted and matched her reckless passion with his own. They went on like this for about three minute; Joyce, the aggressor as she licked into his mouth, and nipped at his lower lip with her little white teeth. His hands didn’t seem to know where to rest until they slide up the front of her shirt and over her bare breasts as she rolled her hips against him. .

 

“I don’t really want to talk,” Joyce moaned as Hopper’s fingers found her nipples and pinched gently. She tugged her shirt over her head and threw it to the ground. The next time she went in for a kiss, he jerked his head away, his arms dropping to his sides. “Hopper?” She narrowed her eyes as she studied his face. His icy blue eyes were focused on a fixed point over her shoulder, and he was biting his lip. “Jim?”

 

“This isn’t okay.”

A wave of cold settled over Joyce, feeling for all the world as though someone dumped a bucket of ice over her head. “Why?” she inquired, scooting from his lap to the floor and bending over to pick up her blouse. She pulled it over her head and crossed her arms over her chest.

 

“You know why. Don’t make me say it.”

“Bob.”

 

Hopper winced and looked up at her, his eyes shining oddly, his face tight with pain. “You don’t think it’s too soon?”

 

Joyce scoffed and then sighed heavily. She bit her lip and shrugged, not meeting Hopper’s pained stare. “I just don’t want to feel bad anymore. I want to numb it a little, you know?”

“I know. This used to be my favorite method of forgetting after Sara... “ Hopper buried his face in his hands, unable to finish. “It only works for a little while, Joyce.”

 

“Then it will be like getting a moment to breath. Like a smoke break during a busy shift at the store.” She sat next to him once more and put one hand on his knee and squeezed before letting it trail upward. He covered the roving hand with one of his own and guided it back to his knee, holding it there.

 

“No, Joyce. I can’t be your band-aid. Not like this.”

 

Joyce jerked her hand away, irritated with his soothing, patient tone. It was as if he was talking to a difficult child, and not a woman who wanted nothing more than to ride his cock into oblivion. “Why?” she snapped.

 

“Because I think we should be-…” he trailed off and groaned, before raking one hand through his dark blonde hair; it stood slightly on end when he released it from his anxious grip. “Because I don’t want to.”

 

I don’t want to. I don’t want to. I don’t want _you_.

 

Joyce was on her feet and searching for her bra. “Okay, well, I’ve thoroughly made an ass out of myself. It’s nice out, I think I’ll walk home.”

 

Hopper cast a cursory glance out of his bedroom window. “It’s dark out, Joyce. Also you live on the other end of town, and it’s snowing.”

 

“The Hideaway isn’t that far. I’ll just walk there, have a drink and find my own way home.”

 

Hopper shot to his feet. “What do you mean by that?” There was an irritable edge to his voice. He wasn’t yelling, but he wasn’t exactly sotto voce in his inquiry. His eyes were burning, and his jaw was set firmly.

 

“I’ll call home and have Jonathan pick me up?” Joyce’s voice was soft and confused as she attempted to suss out the meaning of Hopper’s sudden outburst.

 

“Oh, Okay. No, actually,  not okay, Joyce! I’ll take you back to the cabin so you can get your car and go home, if you want.”

 

“I want to go home, but I don’t want to bother you anymore.” She headed for the bathroom, intent on putting her bra back on and maybe letting the faucet run as she cried in embarrassment for a few minutes.

 

Hopper followed, his tone, contrite. “I need to go to the cabin anyway, it’s really not a big deal. Please, please don’t get upset over this.”

 

“Okay,” Joyce agreed, before stepping into the bathroom and slamming the door in his face.

 

________

 

A week went by with no end to the nightmares and the “other” dreams. Joyce went to the cabin on her lunch breaks, a choice that ensured Jim wouldn’t be present on her visits with El. Unfortunately, it meant her visits were extremely brief, so Joyce only really had time to check the girl’s homework progress, and maybe sneak a scoop of ice cream.

 

“Why don’t you visit when Hopper’s here anymore?” El asked as they finished a bowl of ice-cream in front of the television.

 

“It’s complicated, sweetie- and it’s only been a week.”

 

“So, it’s not forever?” Joyce averted her eyes from El’s intense stare.

“No, I don’t think so. I’ve just got to work through some awkwardness; after that I’m sure my visits will be longer and in the afternoon.”

 

“Good,” El stated, picking up the empty bowl and taking it to the sink. “He misses you,” she announced over the running faucet.

 

“Hop?”

 

El didn’t answer, her attention was focused on washing the small pile of dishes.

“I have to go, sweetie.”

 

“See you when you get done being awkward, Mrs. Byers.”

 

As Joyce drove back to work, she thought about El’s parting words. She had made things awkward with Hopper by overplaying her hand. He had always presented himself as a listening ear, a good friend, someone who cared deeply about her and her family. Putting those facts together with their romantic past, Joyce rationalized that her reaction to him during the nap was perfectly natural, given her vulnerable state. She wanted contact, and he was the closest person within reach, and then one she had thought wouldn’t turn her down.

 

Maybe she had misread the intensity of his regard; the soft and long way she sometimes caught him staring, or how he would sometimes lightly touch the small of her back or an elbow when he wanted to guide her attention to some place. The way he offered up his own bed so she could get some sleep… his offer to nap with her.

 

Mistaken or not, it did not help the predicament Joyce was currently in. She drove past The Hideaway, she thought about how upset Hopper had been when she had put forth the idea of walking there and--

 

“Finding my own way home,” she breathed as the sign for the bar disappeared in her rearview mirror. He took it as her going to the bar to pick up men. That was exactly it. Joyce would have laughed if she had made the connection days ago, but in that moment, she was more contemplative than anything.

 

Ten minutes later, Joyce walked through her front door and immediately picked up the phone to dial the Wheelers’ number. “Hey, Karen, it’s Joyce. Hi! Yeah, I was wondering if I could take you up on that Ladies’ Night offer? Tomorrow? Great.”

 

______

  


“You look great, Joyce!” Karen gushed from the driver’s side of her car as Joyce stepped down from her porch and wobbled down the driveway in her black high heels. She was wearing a black leather jacket over a royal blue cocktail dress, and she was shivering in black nylons. A hat would’ve messed up her carefully curled and coiffed hair, so she opted not to wear one.

 

“So do you,” Joyce complimented as she settled into the passenger’s seat. Karen was a vision in her red pleather miniskirt, blue, low cut blouse and white boots; her hair, as always, looked professionally styled. Not a wisp out of place.

 

“Thank you! I’m so glad you decided to come out for once. I understand why you haven’t, of course, we all do, but it’s great to see your pretty face. Kind of like the old days, huh? You and me.”

 

“Double Trouble,” Joyce murmured with a shy, half-smile.

 

“On the prowl!” Karen whooped, hitting the roof of her car with an exquisitely manicured hand.

 

Joyce laughed nervously. “I mean, not really, right? You’re married.”

 

Karen rolled her eyes and repeated. “On. The. Prowl.” She nodded with every word.

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

Joyce realized that she had not seen her friend in months, but she had heard talk around town. After Holly started going to preschool, Karen… changed. She and Ted had always had a bit of a distant relationship, but now Joyce was hearing that the woman was disconnecting from her children as well; she had quit the PTA; stopped volunteering at the library and day care,  and according to Gina Glass from the Supermarket, wine ate up quite a bit of the Wheeler grocery budget.

 

Joyce hated the rampant gossiping that went on in town, and she felt horrible that her old friend was now a target of it, but seeing Karen’s flashier new looks, louder personality, and getting the implication that she would not be the only one looking for a bed-warmer (Joyce’s word. She liked it because it covered what she was looking for for the night and nothing else), Joyce wondered if there was something more to this rumored personality change.

 

“You know, I went a little crazy when both of the boys started school. It really gave me a second to look around and see what had become of my life… the man I married.”

 

“Ugh, yeah, I bet you had egg on your face when you realized you were married to Lonnie Byers,” Karen replied, glibly before pulling into the Hideaway parking lot. Well, whatever was going on, her reply told Joyce that a heart-to-heart was definitely not on schedule for the evening, which was fine.

The bar was packed, which Joyce reasoned was going to happen. There was a fairly elaborate winter festival in the next town over, and it always tended to bring in a lot of tourists, especially now there was a brand new Holiday Inn nestled between the two towns. It was perfect, Joyce didn’t have the luxury of being Chief of Police or a man; ending up in bed with someone from the town proper would do nothing more than fuel the gossip mill, especially when she had no intention on seeing said person ever again. Especially when there seemed to be a special calendar that denoted a set amount of time a grieving woman was supposed to be a nun that Joyce wasn’t in possession of.

 

“I see a spot!” Karen announced, taking Joyce’s hand and pulling her towards a row of booths.

 

“Those all have people in them, Karen!”

 

Karen paused and turned to Joyce with an expression that read ‘that’s the point, you idiot’ before jerking her head in the direction of the last booth. Two men sat across from each other, both nursing whiskeys, both dressed in suits… both reasonably handsome and age appropriate -- which, thank god for that, Joyce did not want to play -- what was it called? Leopard? -- Mrs. Robinson to some twenty year-old. That was Lonnie’s territory.

 

“Gentlemen, this place is crazy tonight, and we’re both wearing heels. Would you mind?” Karen asked, batting her eyelashes and smiling appealingly. Of course, George and Frank (their names), obliged. Karen’s charm was legendary.

 

Joyce found out that the two of them had actually organized the winter festival. They were brothers, and  had grown up in Absalom (the host town). Both of them had gone on to better things in bigger cities (Indianapolis and Chicago), but they loved their hometown so much, they always used their resources to make the festival special. Joyce thought it was very touching, as she cautiously sipped her red wine and tried to shrink into the corner of the booth. Karen gushed over the concept as she went shot for shot with the increasingly rowdier brothers.

 

“Oh look, Joycie! It’s the Chief!” Karen shouted, nearly standing up in the booth to wave her arms toward the door.

 

Joyce felt winded by the news. “Sit down!” she hissed, reaching forward to push at her friend.

 

“Uh-oh, do you two have fake IDs? Underage drinking?” Frank teased, putting an arm around Joyce’s shoulder. Karen laughed raucously, Joyce just held up her hand in front of her profile like a barrier, hunched over in her seat and stared at the wall.

 

“Oh, hey Karen. Leaving the husband home tonight?” Hopper asked cheerfully. Joyce heard his sharp intake of breath, and knew her attempts to hide had proven fruitless. “Joyce.” His utterance of her name was cold and flat. She put her hand down, straightened up in the seat and turned her head to meet his gaze - it was intense, disapproving and disbelieving, and when his eyes shifted to take in Frank’s close proximity and stance towards her, another emotion flashed in his dark, narrowed eyes that Joyce couldn’t quite place.

 

“Jimmy, this is Fre-Frank and George!” Karen exclaimed. “They let us sit in their booth ‘cuz there was no room at the inn! Like Jesus.”

 

“How nice.” Hopper turned, grabbed a chair from a nearby table and pulled it to the head of the booth. “You mind, Freddy?” he grunted at Frank, who immediately shook his head.

 

“J-Jimmy, no one likes a fifth wheel!” Karen scolded.

 

“Oh, I didn’t realize you both were on dates. I thought you all just met.”

Karen leaned forward towards Hopper’s ear. “Don’t be naive,” she hissed in a stage whisper. “Joyce is lonely, so she’s gonna go home with a tourist.”

 

“Karen!” Joyce cried, setting her wine glass down with such violence that a crack appeared on the stem.

 

“Would you look at the time,” George announced, glancing at his bare wrist. “Frank, we’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

 

“Yep. Night, ladies. Officer.”

 

The two men moved from the booth and headed towards the door with determined haste, barely giving Joyce, Karen or Hopper so much as a backwards glance. Joyce’s face was still in her hands as she processed the sheer embarrassment of Karen announcing her plans.

 

“Karen, let’s get you home.” Joyce’s announcement was muffled against her palms.

 

Karen leaned back against the booth and heaved a forlorn sigh. “That time already?”

“I’ll take you ladies. I just got here, and I was only coming in to pick up a frozen pizza and a six-pack.”

 

“Weekend at Aunt B’s?” Joyce asked. Hopper was getting better about keeping healthy foods in the cabin, with a few exceptions on special days. It wasn’t Tuesday, so it wasn’t pizza night for him and El.

 

“Yeah.” His response was terse, and Joyce realized that he was avoiding eye contact with her altogether -- this rankled her. Who was he to judge? Marissa still couldn’t see him in the library without rolling her eyes, not to mention the countless others who had ‘gotten the business end of Big Jim’, as Donald Melvald once remarked.

 

“Well, if you want to take Karen back, that would probably be for the best.” She cast a glance around the room and caught a few curious stares. More than one person had heard Karen’s announcement. Fantastic. “If you could give me a ride home too, I would really appreciate it.”

 

“I already said I would.”

“Stop. Fighting.” Karen groaned as she slumped over the table of the booth.

 

________

 

“Are you mad at me?” Joyce asked once they had Karen safe on the couch at the Wheelers and were back on the road.

 

“Why would you even ask that?” Hopper inquired, lighting another cigarette as he kept his eyes on the road.

 

“You won’t even look at me.”

 

“I’m driving.”

 

“Not just in here. Once Karen told you what I was doing, you just shut down.”

 

“So she wasn’t lying.”

 

Joyce hugged herself and shivered. “Not really.”

 

“I told you it wouldn’t help.”

 

“I like to figure things out for myself. You don’t need to protect me all the time.”

 

Hopper’s knuckles went white as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “So what, you were just going use your wiles to get a free room at the Holiday Inn?”

 

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, I remember that offer too.”

 

Joyce’s eyes flashed as she felt a scorching heat travel up and down her body. She waited until Hopper’s Blazer paused at a stop sign before unbuckling herself, throwing the door open, and exiting the vehicle.

 

“Jesus Christ! Joyce, what are you doing?” She heard the vehicle go into park, the click of the hazard lights, the driver’s side door slamming shut and Hopper’s heavy boots against the snow as he followed her up the road. She increased her pace, but knew she wouldn’t get far in heels. “It’s fifteen degrees out here, Joyce, you are going to freeze! Come on, get in the truck.”

 

“Leave me alone, Hopper!” Joyce screamed, spinning around to face him. Unfortunately, she was standing on a patch of ice during this maneuver. Her heart jumped clear to her throat as she slipped and fell backwards. Hopper’s arms closed around her before the back of her head could hit the pavement, pulling her close against his chest, which she promptly began to pummel with her fists as she burst into tears.

 

“Hey, hey, hey… I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry, just come back to the truck. Please, come back to the truck,” Hopper pleaded with his face pressed against her hair. His hands were large and warm as he stroked comforting circles against her back.

 

Joyce stopped fighting, and didn’t protest when he scooped her into his arms like a bride and carried her back to the Blazer. “I’m so sorry, Joyce,” Hopper repeated as he strapped her into the car. One big hand cupped her cheek, his thumb wiping away at the tears that fell. “I’m an asshole, okay? A colossal piece of shit, so don’t listen to me. You have to deal with this in your way, and if going back to that bar and finding someone to make you feel a little less empty for an hour is what you want, I’ll drive you back. I’ll even pay for your hotel room, just stop crying, please.”

 

Joyce covered the hand that was cupping her cheek and guided it to her mouth. She kept a steady but watery gaze on Hopper as she kissed his palm and guided the hand to her chest, placing it over her left breast. She sniffled as she studied his face for signs of acceptance.

 

“Okay.”

 

Hopper sped on his way back to the trailer, neither of them exchanging a single word. Joyce took the time to compose herself; she worked on her breathing, smoothed her hair, and tugged at her skirt. Mostly, she battled with her sense of reason. She didn’t even realize they had reached their destination until Hopper threw open the passenger side door to let her out.

 

“Do you want this?” Joyce inquired, her voice wavering. He said nothing as he leaned over to unbuckle her. She felt his hot breath against the side of her neck as he worked at the buckle -- an involuntary shiver ran through her, and a moan escaped her when his fingers brushed her thigh as he pulled away and waited for her to get out. She sat frozen for a moment, worrying her bottom lip with contemplative teeth.

 

“Do _you_ want this?” Hopper asked when the moment stretched onward.

 

Joyce nodded started to get up to exit the vehicle before Hopper scooped her into his arms again. Her stomach fluttered as he carried her over the threshold into the trailer, her fingers playing with the hair near the nape of his neck as he entered his old bedroom. He kissed her hard before setting her onto the mattress, leaving her lips warm and tingling as he went to work on removing his jeans and flannel.

 

Joyce sat up and kicked off her heels as she watched Hopper disrobe. He was leaner than he had been in the past, the softness of his upper arms and belly had begun to melt away to reveal hard edges and solid muscle. The image stirred something hot and primal low in her belly, and she was glad she was going home with him and not Frank.

 

“Are you gonna just stare at my ass all night, or…?” Hopper’s tone was amused as he stood in front of her in his noticeably tented boxer shorts. Joyce was still fully clothed.

 

“It zips in the back,” she managed.

 

“Stand up and turn around.”

 

Joyce obeyed. She shivered when he pushed his hair to the side, his fingers brushing the back of her neck before going to work unzipping her dress. One hand was dry and warm as he caressed her bare back while the other pulled the zipper down, down to her waist. Joyce moved her hands to her shoulders to push the dress down, but he caught her gently by the wrists. “Please, let me,” he murmured against her ear before pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. She closed her eyes and nodded. Her dress pooled at her ankles as he unclasped the back of her bra and moved to stand in front of her. She was shivering in her nylons and panties, her eyes to the floor and her arms crossed over her chest as he studied her with dark eyes.

 

“Are you just going to stare at my tits all night, or…?” she attempted to joke.

 

“You are so fucking beautiful. Jesus Christ, it hurts.” He tugged her arms away from her  chest and bent low to give her a soft, achingly tender kiss. “Are you sure?” he inquired, pulling away,  his lips a breath away.

 

“Yes.”

 

Soon they were on the bed, Hopper propped onto his elbows as he tried not to crush Joyce under his weight. His lips were strong and sure as they ghosted and then pressed against hers. She sighed and parted her lips to accept his tongue. Hopper settled onto his side so he had a free hand to cup her face, deepening their increasingly desperate kisses. Joyce felt heat pool her thighs, despite the niggling echo of shame deep in her chest.

 

“Beautiful,” Hopper whispered hoarsely as he pulled his lips away from hers and trailed them over her cheeks and the sensitive spot behind her ear. His hand moved from her cheek to her right breast, palming the weight and circling his thumb around her taut nipple. Joyce’s body was on fire under his strong calloused hands and sure, knowing lips. His beard tickled sensitive flesh as he moved to capture her other nipple into his greedy mouth. The motion drew a sharp gasp from her and her hips began to move of their own volition against his thigh.

 

“Please,” she murmured, moving his hand from her breast and guiding it down to her center. There was still a barrier of cotton and nylon between his hand and her aching need, but she knew he could feel the heat and dampness that signified her acute want. He looked up from her breast, his eyes glazed with lazy desire as he searched her face for what she imagine was hesitation. “Please,” she repeated, lifting her hips and pushing the material down from her hips. Hopper moved down to assist her, pulling down the nylons along with her panties and throwing them to one side.

 

Tears of relief sprang to Joyce’s eyes when Hopper settled his face between her thighs, hooked her legs over his shoulders, and pressed a kiss against her center. “Yes, please,” she moaned. It was all the invitation he needed, and Joyce felt her back arch and the muscles in her thighs go tense as his tongue swiped and then explored her soaked folds. “Fuck,” she swore as he teased and tasted. Her thighs began to twitch under his ministrations and she swore he could sense she was edging the precipice. He slide two fingers inside of her, pumping slow and then fast as he suckled her swollen clit, making her scream his name. She broke apart violently, shortly after, her whole body shuddering as she went tense and then relaxed. She tasted herself on his lips and beard as he moved up to kiss her trembling lips.

 

“Should I return-”

 

“No, this isn’t about me,” he cut her off, leaning over her to reach into the nightstand drawer from a foil wrapped condom. She took it from his hands, ripped open the package and slid the rubber over his rock-hard cock. It twitched in her hands as she rolled the material down, and he moaned softly against her neck.

 

“Lie back,” Joyce urged, pushing at his chest. He obeyed and she moved to slowly slide down onto his cock, sighing as his impressive girth filled and stretched her almost painfully.

 

“Are you okay?” he asked, his hands moving to rest on her waist, his face stricken with worry.

 

“No more talking,” Joyce urged as she began to rock her hips. Her body adjusted and accommodated, and soon she began to feel an almost forgotten heat rise up from her core, increasing in intensity with each stroke of his cock. Hopper’s fingertips were sure to leave bruises as he clutched her hips, urging her to increase her speed as he gasped and groaned beneath her, muttering senseless little sentiments about her beauty, her skill, her tightness, and how he felt about her- she tried to ignore the latter as she climbed higher and higher to the precipice.

 

She came hard, her walls clamping tight around Hopper’s cock as she trembled and cried out, her nails digging into his chest as she slowed and collapsed against him. “Don’t stop,” he pleaded, moving so she was beneath him, one leg thrown over his shoulder as he thrust into her, desperate and erratic, the rhythm completely lost; this went on for barely thirty seconds before he gave a shuddering groan and spent himself. When he finished, he rolled onto his back and struggled to catch his breath. Joyce panted quietly as her heartbeat slowly returned to manageable cadence. She was glowing, and completely unable to prevent a smile from crossing her features as she enjoyed the euphoria of her intense orgasm.

 

“Jesus,” Hopper muttered, as he disposed of the condom and grabbed two cigarettes. “How do you feel?” he inquired softly.

She turned to him and took the cigarette, the inquiry pulling her away from the moment and reminding her how she had gotten there. Her insides twisted and the corners of her mouth fell. The illusion was gone.

 

“I don’t know,” she replied, allowing him to light the cigarette as she rested against the pillow.


	2. Selfish Bastards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hopper and Joyce navigate their new situation through the Holidays.

“Merry Christmas!” Will Byers chirped as he, Jonathan, and Joyce stood on the porch of Hopper’s cabin, arms laden with gifts and bags. El’s mouth fell open at the sight, her intelligent brown eyes scanning the Byers family and their offerings. Hopper put a hand on the girl’s shoulder, urging her to stand aside so the little family could come in from the cold. When Joyce walked past, he had to fight the urge to kiss her on the cheek - it had been a week since ‘the event’, and while he and Joyce were still speaking (hence the festive gathering) they definitely weren’t speaking about  _ that.  _

 

“Do you have anything else to bring in from the car?” Hopper asked, taking bags from Joyce and setting them on the counter. He braved a quick embrace, which she returned. 

 

Joyce nodded. “The food and the chafing dishes.” Between the massive amounts of repair going into their respective households, neither Joyce nor Hopper could be arsed to cook a Christmas dinner - Joyce and the boys had driven an hour out the night before to make a pick up from the nearest Boston Chicken. 

 

“I’ll help,” he announced, jerking his head towards the door. “You kids go ahead and put the presents under the tree.”

 

He followed her outside, quickly catching up so they were side-by-side as she headed down the twisted walkway to her little green car. The late morning air was biting cold, and Joyce’s breaths came out in visible puffs as she walked with purpose, her eyes forward. Jim couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. 

 

“I’m guessing today isn’t the day we’re going to talk about it.” About the thing I said when we were together. The BIG thing. The additional words stuck in his throat and died.

 

Joyce paused, her hand on the driver’s side door. She let out three deep, shuddering breaths that made her shoulders rise and fall before she turned to Hopper with a frown. 

 

“Hop, let’s just enjoy Christmas.”

 

“I just want to know if you reg-”

 

“Let’s just enjoy Christmas, okay? It’s El’s first, I want it to be memorable.”

 

He nodded. If there was one person in the world he thought about more than Joyce, it was The Kid, and appealing to his concern for her was an effective, if not slightly calculated move. That night would remain as it was; a fevered memory that could’ve very well been a dream, judging by how unwilling one party was to speak of it again. 

 

El and the boys, did actually enjoy themselves. Joyce and Hopper both had received a bit of settlement money when the Lab closed (Sam Owens made sure of it), so the present stockpile was considerable. A lot of it was practical; clothing, socks, dorm organizers for Jonathan...

 

“Hopper, there’s money in these socks…” Jonathan murmured, pulling out a small stack of twenties.

 

“That’s to put away for school. New York is expensive.”

 

Jonathan shrugged. “I haven’t heard back yet, I probably didn’t get in.”

 

“You got in, son. They’d be stupid to turn you down,” Hopper assured Jonathan, leaning forward on the couch so he could ruffle the boy’s hair. Jonathan snorted and shook his head in disbelief.

 

“You’ll get in,” Will affirmed before tearing into the bright red wrapping on a large box. “HOLY SHIT!” he exclaimed when he unearthed a Nintendo.

 

“Oh, Hop, I  _ just  _ got him an Atari last year,” Joyce moaned, pressing one hand against her cheek as she observed her youngest son’s unbridled glee. 

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, that’s from Santa,” Hopper replied, throwing an arm around Joyce’s shoulder, and shooting a grin and a wink in Will’s direction. “And watch your language.”  The moment his arm went around Joyce, three pairs of eyes snapped up from the dwindling pile of gifts to the intimate scene on the couch. He felt Joyce’s body stiffen under his embrace, and he quickly dropped his arm, murmuring an apology as his cheeks burned. 

 

“Well, thanks, Hopper - Look, Mom, it comes with Duck Hunt!” Will enthused. 

 

“That’s wonderful, sweetie.”

 

After presents, the Hoppers and the Byers settled around the kitchen table (made bigger by pushing a card table next to it), and enjoyed their meal. Thankfully, Joyce conversed with Hopper without the spectre of his miscalculation hanging over them. His cheeks hurt from smiling as she chattered and sparkled, sharing anecdotes from high school to the amusement of her sons. Even though many of the jokes and stories clearly went over El’s head, the girl joined in on the easy camaraderie. 

 

“I can’t believe Mom was a troublemaker in high school, that had to be your influence,” Jonathan remarked as Hopper refilled Joyce’s wine glass. 

 

“Other way around. Your mom was pulling me into trouble way back in the schoolyard. Stealing pennycandy and getting me to carve cuss words into the Pastor’s wife’s desk in Sunday school.”

 

“Because ‘heck’ is  _ such _ a naughty word,” Joyce countered with a roll of her eyes. 

 

“The whooping I got after sure made me feel like it was.”

 

After dinner, everyone gathered around the television for Christmas movies and hot chocolate. El sat between Hopper and Joyce, while the boys sat on the floor, knees drawn to their chests. 

 

“Thanks for the bras and bathroom stuff, Joyce,” El murmured, resting her head against Joyce’s shoulder. During the opening of the gifts, Joyce had taken El to her bedroom with a large white box. Hopper had a vague idea of what was in the box, due to the secrecy surrounding it, and not for the first time, he thanked his lucky stars that Joyce was in his and the kid’s life. He prayed he hadn’t messed that up by being who he was - El was clearly starting to look up to Joyce as a mother figure. He swore he’d never touch her again, if she’d just stay - just be there for the kid.

 

“You’re welcome, sweetie,” Joyce replied, kissing the top of El’s curly head. 

 

Somewhere around the middle of  _ Miracle on 34th Street,  _ Hopper realized that he was the only person still awake. He carefully scooped El into his arms and carried her to her bedroom to tuck her in; afterwards, he did the same for Will, placing him on the cot in the living room.

 

“Joycie, wake up,” Hopper whispered, gently shaking Joyce’s shoulder. She blinked and opened her eyes with a soft whimper. “The kids are all down for the count.” She frowned and sat up, her eyes falling on Jonathan as he slumbered on the rug in front of the television. She knelt next to the boy and nudged him until he was awake as well.

“Lie down on the couch, sweetie,” she whispered, helping him to his feet and leading him to a more comfortable resting place. Jonathan was back to sleep within moments of his head hitting the throw pillow. She took the multi-colored afghan from the back of the couch and threw it over his gently snoring form. 

 

“You can take my bedroom, I’ll sleep in the armchair,” Hopper offered before Joyce took his hand and led him down the hallway to his room. Once inside, Joyce closed the door behind them, pressing her ear against the door for sounds of conversation in the other parts of the house - finding none, she turned to Hopper, grabbed two fistfuls of his flannel shirt front, and pulled him down for a hungry kiss. His resolution to never touch her again dissolved at the feeling of her soft lips, parting against his.  His hands traveled down her back and rested against her buttocks, hoisting her up so he didn't have to strain to deepen the kiss. She moaned encouragingly as he pressed her against the door, coaxing her legs around his waist so his hands could cup her small, beautiful face. A delicious shiver ran up and down his spine as she tangled the fingers of one hand through his hair. The other hand grasped at his back. 

 

“Do you want to… ?” he trailed off as they broke away, resting his forehead against hers.

 

“Bed,” she gasped. 

 

______

 

Joyce woke in the middle of the night, her limbs entwined with Hopper’s and her head resting on his bare chest. He had one hand resting on the back of her head, his long fingers tangled in her messy locks - his other hand was clutching at the comforter that had been pushed down to his hips, and he was shivering. Joyce reached out and closed her fingers around the top of the comforter, pulling it up to cover the both of them with it’s heavy, well-worn warmth. She tried to scoot away from him, but his hand fell from her hair so he could bring one heavy arm across her body, keeping her firmly at his side.

 

“You idiot,” Joyce breathed, not entirely sure who the insult was directed towards. She allowed herself to fall back asleep, consciously aware that she was going to have to be sneaky in order to get away from the room without alerting the others in a few, precious hours.

 

________

 

“What are you doing New Year’s Eve, Joyce?”

Joyce looked up from her register to see Hopper standing in front her her, his cheeks and nose pink from the cold. She had been so lost in her novel that she hadn’t even noticed the bell ring when he walked through the door. With a sigh, she set down her book, pressed her lips together and sucked her teeth in an expression of contemplation. 

 

“Jonathan is going out with Nancy, and Will is going to the same party at the Wheelers that I assume El was invited to. Isn’t that where you’re going to be?”

 

Hopper shook his head. “Actually, El is spending New Year’s with her Aunt Becky at the cabin. The party at the Wheeler’s is too risky, but Becky just wants to stay in and do some bonding. Owens even approved it.”

 

“Oh, well that’s nice. Can I help you find anything?” Joyce asked as she picked up her novel once more. 

 

“Yeah, well, Owens just got a job at Hawkins General, and he’s renting a room at the Swan Club to celebrate with his new work friends. He invited us both, and asked me to ask you-”

 

“The Swan Club? Fancy.” Joyce’s head began to swim at the possibility of what he was asking of her.

 

“We can meet there, if you like. I mean, if you want to go - it wouldn’t be a date.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Unless, of course, you wanted it to be. It might be nice to only have to worry about one vehicle, and people tend to tow the line on the road when they see my Blazer coming. Your Pinto is terrible on winter roads, also. I wish you’d get rid of it, you have the money now.”

 

Joyce shot him an irritated look. “Did you come here to ask me out or insult my driving and my car?” 

 

“I’m just saying, the damn things were recalled and everything, Joyce.”

 

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Does this work on all the girls?”

 

Hopper went scarlet at the implication. He sputtered and stammered, before landing on, “There aren’t any other girls. Not for me.” Once it was out, his eyes went wide and his nostrils flared. Joyce felt a curious sting in the corners of her eyes, as her breath caught firmly in her throat. 

“Oh.”

 

“Look, never mind, I’ll just ask-”

 

“Don’t ask anyone else! I’ll go, since I was invited anyway.”

 

“Can I pick -”

 

“Yes, you can save me the trouble of shuttling my death trap across town.”

 

Joyce didn’t know why she was saying yes. The two of them arriving at an event together would  _ definitely  _ trigger suspicious, judgmental gossip. Something shitty about Bob barely being cold in his grave, or something equally awful. Still, she felt drawn to Hopper, pulled in by his innate protectiveness (even though she didn’t necessarily feel like she needed protection). She could breathe when she was with him, let her guard down and rest while someone else temporarily took the wheel. It was selfish, and the wanting never failed to make her feel like the worst sort of person - but she didn’t see the gore, the utter devastation of Bob’s poor, heroic body when she closed her eyes around Hopper. 

 

Also her heart and her stomach did a funny flip when he grinned at her the way he did when she told him yes. He had a beautiful smile that took years off of his broad, tired face - she had to fight back the urge to come out from behind her register to embrace him in that moment. Instead, she picked up her novel and rolled her eyes at him, a sly half-smile on her lips. 

 

“Bring your dancing shoes, Joyce. We’re going to cut it up on that dance floor.”

 

Joyce snorted. “I don’t dance.”

 

“That’s not how I remember it. See you tomorrow.”

 

______

 

It had been years since Joyce had bought anything new and pretty for an event. She went straight to Hilda’s Boutique after her shift, spurred on by a long forgotten impulsiveness, and purchased a wine-colored dress with matching t-strap two-inch heels. The dress was knee-length, with a flowy, satin A-line skirt, lace three-quarter sleeves, and a bateau neckline. The dress and the heels were a little old-fashioned, but as she gave herself a little thrill as she did a slow turn in front of the dressing-room mirror imagining what Hopper’s reaction to the dress might be. 

He had once made an offhand comment to her about loving that particular color, years ago when they were young. At the time, she took it as a hint to buy a dress in that exact shade, but she had ignored the request. Her father had been going through some weird, holy-roller phase, and he would have never allowed a dress that shade in their house. 

 

Joyce, never a fashion plate like Karen, did her best with her hair. In the end, brushed it, gathered it to one side, styling into into a knotted side bun. It took a little bit of hairspray, several bobby pins she collected from her bedroom floor, and all of ten minutes. Since it was New Year’s Eve, and a fancy party to boot, Joyce allowed herself to indulge in smokey eye makeup, and lipstick that was a deep shade of crimson. She hardly recognized herself in the full-length mirror that hung on her closet door. 

 

There was a knock at her door around 7 PM. By then, the kids had already left for the Wheelers, though Jonathan had been able to take a few snapshots of Joyce in her evening-wear, even though she insisted he was wasting film. She grabbed her little velvet clutch, took one last glance into the mirror, and headed for the door, opening it slowly, a shy smile on her face.

 

“Hey, sorry I’m a little…” Hopper trailed off as he drank in the sight of her with wide, stunned eyes. A flush crept up her face as he said nothing for a long while. He wore his black coat over a pair of new, dark blue jeans and a off-white button up shirt with light-grey pinstripes. His tie was black. He was wearing a tie. His hair was combed, his beard was trimmed, he smelled like plain soap and expensive aftershave, and he was wearing a tie. She looked down at his shoes; buff-colored derby shoes that appeared to have been cleaned recently. 

 

“Hi,” she greeted breathlessly, suddenly anxious to break his worshipful reverie. He was making her feel as though she were on display. It had been flattering at first, but now she was painfully aware that there was something more between them - something that was transmitted loud and clear from the way he looked at her. Joyce felt as though she was a still point in his universe, and she wasn’t entirely sure if she was prepared for that. 

 

Joyce reached over to the coat rack and grabbed her dove-grey peacoat. Hopper immediately stepped inside, plucked the coat from her hands and stood behind her so he could assist her in putting it on. A little thrill of electricity ran down her neck when he impulsively kissed the back of it before pushing a stray hair back into her chignon. She hoped he didn’t notice how her blush was starting to match her dress.

 

“Hi,” he finally replied, placing one hand on the small of her back and leading her out the front door and down the porch steps to his Blazer, which was idling in the driveway. He opened the driver’s side door for her and helped her step up into the seat, the vehicle was warm and when he settled into his side, he reached into the back seat, retrieved a white plush throw blanket, and arranged it over her lap. The consideration was touching, and she couldn’t help herself from reaching over and affectionately squeezing his knee.

 

“You look really nice, Hopper,” Joyce observed once they were on their way. 

 

Hopper snorted. “I’m trying to find a way to express how good you look, but words fail me. Fucking Christ, you were born to wear that color, Joyce. I’m just some random schlub that happens to be lucky enough to take you out to this party.”

 

Joyce smiled sheepishly at her clasped hands as they rested atop the throw blanket. “Idiot.”

 

_________

 

This isn’t real. This definitely isn’t real. Stop smiling at her like that, you fucking idiot. Hopper’s mind was racing as he led Joyce through the parking lot of The Swan Club, her arm laced through his. He couldn’t stop stealing glances down at her, and every once in awhile, their eyes would meet, and she’d smile up at him with her dewy brown eyes and her beautiful mouth that he loved to kiss, and he had to keep reminding himself that it wasn’t real. He was a band-aid, a salve, and she would never ever love him, not really. Not with the specter of Bob Newby hanging over every aspect of their lives. 

 

It had been easier, when Hopper was watching the pair live their happy little life. At least then he knew where he stood - he didn’t have to imagine her heart-stopping smiles and soft looks had deeper meaning, that they were meant for him and only him. If Bob were alive, Hopper was certain he’d be happy to be medium-miserable, rather than full-blown miserable like he was now. Except he wasn’t really miserable, not when she was smiling up at him in  _ that  _ dress, holding onto his arm like she wanted to be with him. Joyce made it easy to pretend until she didn’t. 

 

They entered the club through the lobby. A hostess was able to steer them towards the direction of the room Owens had rented for the evening, and when they walked through the door, the slight man waved at them from across the room, where he was helping a young man in a black tuxedo set up band equipment. Owens gave the young man an apologetic smile before bounding up to Hopper and Joyce.

 

“Ah, Jim, lovely to see you to this evening! I honestly didn’t think you’d come out.” Owens shook Hopper’s hand and then turned his attention to Joyce.

 

“Why didn’t you think I’d-”

“Shush, Jim, we had our moment - my dear, you are an absolute vision! I’m so glad you could join us this evening.” He kissed Joyce’s hand, much to Hopper’s chagrin. “Isn’t she stunning, Jimbo? I truly hope you’ve at least told her once - anyway! - dinner is going to be served shortly, and then dessert and dancing. I hope you’ll save at least once dance for me, Mrs. Byers. Jim said you used to be quite the dancer in your heyday.” Hopper followed close behind as Owens led Joyce to a little side table with an ivory linen tablecloth and a votive candle burning softly in the middle.

 

“Have a seat, my dear. What can we unworthy mortals fetch you from the bar?”

 

Joyce’s eyes met Jim’s and she rolled her eyes with a small grin, even though her cheeks were burning crimson. “A glass of red wine? I’m perfectly capable of getting it myself.”

 

“We know what you’re capable of, Mrs. Byers - you’re a warrior and a wonder- but tonight someone else gets to fetch your drinks.”

 

Owens and Hopper headed towards the bar, once they were out of earshot of Joyce, Hopper nudged his new friend in the side with a sharp elbow. “Laying it on pretty thick. She’s a little young for you, isn’t she?” Hopper hated the petty edge to his voice, the bitter jealousy that caught in his throat. 

 

“You’re an idiot. I’m trying to encourage you to be a little more effusive with her. She deserves all of the praise, and you’re standing there, grunting like a caveman.”

 

“Joyce doesn’t like a lot of attention. It makes her anxious,” Hopper shot back as they settled into two adjacent bar stools. 

 

“Yes, then I can see how she’d appreciate your ‘strong and silent’ schtick, but it wouldn’t kill you to be a bit more vocal about how much you- a glass of red wine, a whiskey neat, and a gin martini, please- obviously love her.”

 

“I don’t, and if I did, it wouldn’t exactly be well-received. There’s that whole thing with the dead boyfriend.”

 

“You  _ do  _ love her, and Bob - rest his soul- wouldn’t want Joyce to be alone forever. Surely she knows this.”

 

Hopper looked over his shoulder and across the room where Joyce sat by herself. She wasn’t aware she was being observed, and she had that faraway look of melancholy in her eyes again. His stomach flipped, and he wanted nothing more than for the bartender to hurry it up, so he could be at her side again. She turned her gaze to the bar, and catching his eyes, her mouth quirked up in one of her patented Joyce smiles that wrinkled her nose, her hand going up to give him a little wave. 

 

“She loves you too, cowboy. I don’t think she’s fully at the realization, but she loves you.”

 

Hopper’s heart felt fit to burst at the possibility being brought out into the universe. He cleared his throat and tried to school his features into a neutral appearance. “Mind your business, Doc,” he grunted.

 

_______

 

Dinner was delicious. Joyce couldn’t remember the last time she had been able to have steak  _ and _ lobster (she had actually never had lobster), and the conversation was light and sparkling. She and Hopper were the only guests that had been given their own private table, but she liked it that way. There was no pressure to acquaint her with people she had never met, who flitted about in circles she’d never actually be welcome in. Owens would occasionally pop in on their table, sharing an anecdote or a horror story from his new job, the tales getting increasingly loud and animated - which wasn’t surprising, he had a fresh drink in his hand every time he appeared. 

 

“He’s blotto,” Hopper remarked as he carefully sipped his whiskey. They were both nursing their drinks, uncomfortable with getting wasted in a room full of strangers. 

 

“They all kinda are,” Joyce added with a delicate sniff. 

 

After dessert, the band struck up. It was mostly ballroom, with some big band and rock instrumentals thrown in. Joyce’s right leg bounced over her left as she sat with them crossed, observing the guests filter onto the dance floor. 

 

“What is this, a waltz?” Hopper asked, wrinkling his nose. “I can’t dance to this stuff.”

 

“It’s a tango, and I can,” Joyce stated, grinning at his astonished reaction. “I used to take classes in the church basement when I thought it liven up my marriage. Lonnie never showed up to a single one, so I got paired with the instructor.”

 

“Oh. Could you show-”

 

“My dear, did I hear you say you know how to tango?” Owens inquired, popping up seemingly out of nowhere and moving to stand next to Joyce’s chair. She nodded. “Well, I’d be honored if you’d take a turn around the room with me - sorry, Jim. It’s not really a dance you can pick up in one attempt.”

 

Joyce turned to Hopper with an apologetic shrug and allowed Owens to lead her to the floor. Her footwork was a little rusty, but soon they fell into an easy rhythm. 

 

“I’m on my second marriage,” Owens stated before giving her a little dip. 

 

Joyce frowned as she stepped backwards in his arms. “Oh?”

 

“Unfortunately, my first wife died of cancer. Cheryl - my second wife - was my wife’s best friend, and mine too. We were both devastated when Nora passed, just lost and directionless.”

 

“I’m so sorry to hear that.”

 

“Yes, well, it was about two months later when we both realized that we had feelings for one another. Just like that, completely out of the blue. She had never so much as crossed my mind in that way the entire time my wife was alive, and she admitted to the same. It wasn’t convenient, and we both tried to fight it for decency sake - what would the family think? - but in the end, the fighting made everything all the more miserable for us both. So we stopped fighting it, and were married about ten months after my wife’s funeral. A lot of people said a lot of unkind things. People we thought were our friends, and maybe they had a point - but there are some things you just shouldn’t fight. Being happy and loved but being talked about by people who have no idea is better than wallowing and towing the line, but that’s just my opinion. You do what you want.”

 

Joyce realized that they had stopped dancing. Half of Owens’s story had been told as they stood frozen in the middle of the dance floor. Her palms were sweating and the hairs on the back of her neck were standing up as she stared at him with a dazed expression. 

 

“I don’t - I don’t… why are you telling me this?” she asked, knowing deep down she was well aware of why he was sharing that story. 

 

Owens took her right hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed the back of it. “Good luck, you two.” He walked away from the dance floor, leaving Joyce standing stone-faced in the middle of it. 

 

Hopper was immediately at her side. “Are you feeling okay? What did he say to you?”

 

Joyce said nothing, but gave a jolt when the band struck up an instrumental version of “Lucille” by Little Richard. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed Hopper’s cheek. “Let’s dance,” she ordered. Grabbing his hands and pulling him to a less crowded part of the floor. 

 

They had danced all of the time in High School. Not schmaltzy cheek-to-cheek stuff, but actual, honest-to-goodness, Rock ‘n Roll dancing. They had been fast, and Joyce had been tiny, so their height difference was not remarked upon as much back when half of the moves involved her being thrown about at opportune moments. She was still tiny, but time had slowed their movements by time they reunited on the dance floor at Owens’s New Years Eve Party. 

 

“You won’t still be able to lift me,” Joyce teased as she spun about. She shrieked with delighted laughter when he proved her wrong. 

 

They were achy and panting by the time the song ended. Joyce’s face hurt from smiling and Hopper tried to reposition the bobby pins that had fallen out of her coif during the exercise. 

 

“It’s okay, Hop - ouch! That’s my scalp! - it’s okay, it wasn’t structurally sound in the first place,” Joyce assured him, pulling the rest of the pins from her hair and shaking it until it fell down past her shoulders. She looked up and saw him staring down at her, his pupils dilated and his mouth slightly slack as he drank in the sight of her wild, tousled mop. 

 

“It’s not even near to midnight, but do you want to get out of here?” he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion, his hands coming up to frame her face. She thought about Owens’s words, about how she had felt moving around the dance floor with Hopper, how she felt every single time he was in the same room as her - the way the pain, still bubbling within, stayed safely away from the surface. 

 

“Yes.”

 

They bid Owens a hasty goodbye, and left the club, hand-in-hand. Joyce was beyond caring who saw, that was over now. She found herself picking up the pace until she was practically dragging him to the car. 

 

“Joyce, where’s the fire?” he teased, opening the passenger side door for her.

 

“I want to wait a little to tell the kids.”

 

“What?”

 

“They’re the only ones I care about in this, so I think we need to be careful for just a little bit and then we can tell them.”

 

She stepped forward, standing so close her chest brushed against his abdomen. His hands were shaking as one came up to stroke her hair, the other still holding her hand. She leaned into his touch, practically purring at the feeling of his fingers in his hair. 

 

“What are you saying?”

 

“I’m saying I love you too, and this is 100% inconvenient and too soon, but I don’t think I care if you don’t. I’m used to gossip, I can take it. What I can’t take is pushing you away because-”

 

His hands slid to her waist, easily lifting her so his lips could reach hers. Her arms slid over his shoulders, anchoring herself to him and returning his kiss with a ravenous, dizzying hunger that made him moan helplessly against her mouth. 

 

“Let’s be selfish bastards, Hop.”

 

“Okay.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Valentine's Day is celebrated and dreams are discussed.

“What are you doing for the wife tonight, Cal?” Phil Callahan inquired lazily as he frowned over a crossword puzzle. “Six-letter word for constant state of bad luck…” he muttered, gnawing on the eraser-end of his pencil. **  
**

“Oh, reservations at the Swan Club, a little bit of dancing; her mom is in town for the night so we’re going to treat ourselves to a night in the Presidential Suite at the Washington House Inn,” Calvin Powell answered with a smug grin. “How about you, Phil? Big plans with your right hand?”

Phil responded by throwing up the middle finger of the hand in question before chuckling, good-naturedly. They both turned to Jim Hopper, who was leaning against the wall, reading the newspaper and sipping his coffee.

“How about Friar Chief? How’s that vow of chastity going for you, pal?” Phil jeered.

Hopper snapped his newspaper down and shot an icy-yet-confused glare at his coworker. “What’s that now?”

“Valentine’s Day, Chief,” Cal offered, pointing upwards at the various paper hearts dangling from the ceiling, courtesy of Flo. “Phil here is trying to gather material for his spank bank, so he was asking what our plans were.”

Jim glanced across the room and squinted at the calendar hanging from the wall. “That’s today?” he inquired, a queasy feeling twisting his guts.

“Something you’re not telling us, Chief? You look a little green around the gills,” Phil observed, a smirk quirking up one corner of his mouth. “Must be serious.” His sly expression didn’t leave his face even when Hopper shot him a look that clearly bespoke of how easy it would be for the big man to punch the moustache clear off of Phil’s face.

“Mind your goddamn business, and worry about buying your right hand something pretty. It’s a special day,” Jim retorted as he desperately tried to think of places other than Melvald’s he could stop at for a last minute gift. Maybe she wasn’t working that day…

She was. Joyce Byers stood behind the register when Jim walked in; earthy and neutral in a sea of garish red and nausea-inducing pastels. She gave him a shy little wave when their eyes met, a soft, ghost of a pleased smile on her lips.

“Valentine’s Day,” Jim muttered by way of greeting, pointing upwards towards the paper hearts and streamers that hung overhead. Joyce’s eyes widened for a millisecond, then she pursed her lips and nodded slowly.

“Can I help you, Hop?” she asked carefully.

Jim’s gaze fell to his boots as he awkwardly shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Uh- well- is there anyone else working today?”

“Anyone… else? Why?”

“T-tammy is here, right?” He raised his eyes to shoot her a rather sheepish expression. The color in her cheeks deepened as she frowned in his direction.

“No, Hop, it’s just me.”

“Oh. Okay, well, see you around Joyce.”

“See you around, Hop. The boys are out visiting tonight, if you wanted to come by. I’ll just be watching movies by myself.”

Hope sparked in Jim’s chest at the news, his eyes lit up.

“You want me to come over?”

“Only if you want to.”

“Tonight. February 14th.”

Another slow nod from Joyce. “Sure.”

“Because El is with her Aunt for a few days. Some bonding thing Becky is calling Galentine’s Day.”

Joyce giggled. “That’s brilliant. Yes, then definitely come by.”

“Okay.”

He stood by the register, wringing his hat in his hands for a few long beats before Joyce spoke again, “Are you sure you don’t need anything from here?”

“No. I was really hoping to talk to Tammy about something.” Joyce’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Not anything you need to be worried about!” he added as the heat of her gaze scorched him.

“Okay, Hop.”

“Well,” he looked around and shrugged. “Bye Joyce.”

“Bye.”

* * *

 

Joyce stood nervously in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, fretting over the short, midnight blue nightie she had purchased on a whim after her shift. She really had planned on donning her stained sweatpants and oversized Blondie t-shirt, as per her usual nights, but Jim had seemed so nervous about coming over on that evening in particular, and something inside her gut told her that he was placing significance on the day. She would’ve forgotten all about Valentine’s Day if it hadn’t been for Donald vomiting holiday cheer all over the store.

She sighed as she pinned her mass of auburn hair on top of her head in a messy, but alluring (she hoped) style. Jesus, what if he was really just coming over to watch movies and drink Schlitz, like they were wont to do on occasion? Just crack open a cold one and eat chips and maybe…

“Coming!” she shouted nervously at the knock on the front door. Not wanting to risk the person on the porch NOT being Jim, she grabbed her terrycloth bathrobe from the hook and hurried towards the front. A quick, cursory glance through the window told her it was indeed, Jim, so she shucked off the robe and threw it in the direction of the recliner before opening the door and instantly regretting her clothing choices. The frigid February air hit her like a shot, causing her to shiver immediately. She backed away and let Jim enter, noting that he carried a bouquet of red roses and wildflowers in one hand, and a shopping back in the other.

“Damn it got cold,” Jim muttered, shoving the flowers and the bag towards her rather unceremoniously. She took them, and he divested himself of his coat and hat, placing them on a nearby hook. His lips were cold as they brushed against her cheek, but he smelled pleasant, like fine leather and sandalwood. “Here, let me take those again.” She handed them off and he stepped back, grinning as he slowly drank her in.

“H-hi,” she stammered nervously, moving to shut and lock the door behind him.

“Wow.”

“Are those for me?” Joyce asked, rubbing her upper arms to generate heat in her limbs.

Jim blinked in surprise and then nodded, eagerly. “Yes. Sorry I’m late, I had to go to the next town over. I forgot how much you work at that place.” He handed her the bouquet, and she took it with delicate hands and an admiring expression. She held them to her nose and inhaled.

“They’re beautiful, Hop. What’s in the bag?”

“Well, chocolates and um- something else. God, you look amazing. Is it new?”

Joyce nodded, and led him to the sofa so they could both sit. “I didn’t get you anything, I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I did order chicken dinners from Peggy’s, though.”

Jim smiled and handed her the bag. Sure enough, there was a box of dark chocolates that appeared to be European. “Fancy,” she teased. The other item was a slender black velvet box. Not a ring, but definitely jewelry. “Hop, really.” she reached in and took the box, shooting him an incredulous look before snapping it open. “Oh!”

“Your birthday is in October, and I know you like opals, so…” his voice was small and unsure as she admired lifted a delicate bracelet from the box. The chain was silver, linked in an anchor style, with little round opals set where the gaps in the chain would normally be. “Is it too much? I can take it back.” Joyce jerked away from his reaching hands.

“Don’t you dare! I love it- of course it’s too much.” She held out her left wrist and handed him the bracelet, smiling expectantly. He picked up on her cue and gently placed the bracelet on her waiting wrist before taking her hand and brushing his lips against her pulse point.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

The skin on her wrist tingled as his lips brushed against it, his beard tickling the sensitive flesh. Joyce felt a thrill run up her spine at the contact. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she echoed as he released his gentle grasp on her wrist. “Did you want to have dinner now?” she inquired, her body thrumming with heat as his eyes swept over her once more, his blue irises darkening with naked desire.

Jim licked his bottom lip and shook his head slowly. “No, not really.” He placed one hand on her thigh, stroking the silky material of her nightgown. “Not really the sort of outfit you wear to a chicken dinner,” he mused, pushing the material up an inch to reveal an ivory thigh, puckered with goose-flesh. 

Joyce sighed and bit her bottom lip. “No, not really. I thought you’d like it, though.”

“I do, I really,  _really_  do – Jesus, how did I get so lucky?” He pulled her onto his lap with a quick motion, gazing up at her like she hung the moon as she straddled his hips and brought her hands up to stroke the sides of his face. 

“Stop questioning it,” she murmured, before dipping her head to capture his lips. His hands drew lazy circles up and down her back as they exchanged deep, leisurely paced kisses. She moaned and ground her hips when his tongue slipped past her lips, meeting his increasingly obvious need with her own. 

“I can’t help it,” he admitted, pulling away from her lips with a playful nip. “It took everything I had not to fuck you into the mattress that day I tried to help you sleep. I didn’t want it to just be a comfort thing, though I’d have done anything to help you then – but not that. I wanted you to want–” 

She cut him off by licking into his mouth once more, her hands coming up so she could tangle her fingers into his hair, increasing the intensity so suddenly that their teeth clacked together on first contact. She wanted him so badly it was painful, the ache acute and throbbing in her core as her hips rocked against him. “I wish you had. I wanted you so much that day, I even had a wet dream about you while we were sleeping.” She dropped her hands to his waist, eager and fumbling at his button and zipper. He stilled her motion with gentle hands that closed around her wrists. 

“Ooo, hold up– let’s circle back to that dream,” he urged as he pulled away from her lips and kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear. “What was I doing?” he inquired, voice low, rumbling and sending hot electricity straight to her cunt. He placed his hands on her hips to cease their unconscious rocking. 

“Oh! Ummm… that’s not important,” she squeaked as he slid one hand under her nightie and up her thigh, his fingers brushing against the soaked material of her satin panties. 

“Was it kinky?” he pressed on, his clever fingers pushing the crotch of her panties aside so they could slip into her wetness. “Fuck, you’re dripping. It must have been kinky. Tell me everything –  _now,_ ” he growled as he dipped inside of her and withdrew to flick one soaked finger against her swollen clit. 

Joyce led out a shuddering whimper before nodding. “ _Oh_! Fuck… you were- you were…-” her head fell back as he began to pump inside of her. “I can’t think when you’re doing that to me, Hop!”

“Try.”

“You had me handcuffed to the bed, and you were fucking me so hard I couldn’t see straight,” the words tumbled out of her, nearly unintelligible. She gave a little shriek as he picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist and her arms over his shoulders. He gave her one bruising, possessive kiss before carrying her to through the hallway to her bedroom, and throwing her onto the middle of the bed. He followed, crawling over her and kissing her cheeks, her forehead, the sides of her neck, and her throat before teasing his lips against hers. 

“Stay. Here.” he urged, breathing out as she breathed in, his lips so close to her she could feel the heat of them. 

“What?” It was too late, he was off of the bed and heading into the hallway. His footsteps kept beat with her pounding heart until she heard the front door open and slam shut. She backed up against the pillows, splaying her arms outward and crossing her legs at the knees, she wanted to look irresistible when he returned, get his heart racing as fast as hers, which felt fit to burst from her chest as she regulated her breathing. 

Jim returned with a pair of silver handcuffs dangling in one hand. Joyce took a sharp intake of breath at the sight, her legs uncrossing immediately. He bit his lip and raised the hand that held onto the cuffs. “Is this okay?” he inquired, bossy demeanor faltering and giving way to hesitancy. 

Joyce put her hands above her head, resting them against the space between the two slats in her headboard and crossing them at the wrists, gauging Jim’s reaction the entire time, a sly grin quirking the corners of her mouth. She tried to further convey the message with a meaningful flash of her eyes.

“So… it’s okay?” Jim repeated, his eyes trained on the space between her legs as she bent at the knees and parted them a little more. 

“Hop, I’m practically wearing a sign that says ‘tie me up and fuck me hard’. Yes, it’s okay.”

Hopper went to work immediately, sliding into bed at her side, securing a cuff on one wrist, running it under and around the bottom slat, and then closing it around her other wrist. He was careful to bind her too tightly, a consideration she greatly appreciated. His hands shook ever-so-slightly as he went about the task, his eyes darting between Joyce’s wrists and her eyes, which were heavily lidded and wide with anticipation.

“I trust you, Hop,” she whispered when his brow furrowed and he pressed his lips together in an anxious expression. “I love you.”

A small smile played across his lips, his brow soothing at her tender assurance. He moved over her, resting his weight on his elbows, dipping his head to rain soft, quick kisses against her mouth, and one on the tip of her nose. 

“I love you,” he echoed before moving his attention to the side of her neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive flesh before moving to her throat and downwards to the valley between her breasts. His hands rested on her waist and slide upwards until they cupped her breasts and gently pressing them together, his thumbs rubbing little circles around her nipples until they hardened and peaked.

 His breath was hot as his lips closed over the bodice of her nightie, drawing one nipple into his mouth through the thin fabric as he pushed the strap down her other shoulder, exposing her other breast to the slightly chilled air, his greedy lips covered the bare flesh, sucking and licking at the little peak.  Joyce arched her back, and sighed, wishing very much that she could run her hands over his back, cup his bearded face, run her fingers through his fine, dark-blonde hair. 

“Hopper…” she whimpered, the metal of the cuffs scrapping against the wooden headboard as she strained under his ministrations. 

“Patience,” he teased, pushing her nightie up over her hips and sliding his body downwards to trail his lips along her ribs and the taut flesh of her stomach. Joyce exhaled sharply when his lips brushed against the crease in her left thigh, before pushing her leg over his shoulder and burying his face into her aching center, licking into her with a sudden sort of enthusiasm that staggered her. 

“ _God_ damnit!” Joyce cursed as his tongue swiped and swirled at the aching point that was the crux of her desire. She jerked her arms so suddenly that the metal scraped unpleasantly against her wrist, drawing a pained cry. Jim’s head jerked up, his eyes wide with concern. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, don’t stop,” Joyce begged. He obliged, devouring and sucking at her essence as she wriggled, strained and moaned. Her cries became sharp and frantic as his hands trailed up her sides and over her breasts, squeezing as his mouth drove her closer and closer to the edge. She came with a choked cry, a stream of sentimental nonsense bubbling from her throat and into the universe. 

Joyce heard Jim shed his clothing as she basked in the sleepy euphoria of her orgasm with heavy lidded eyes, heard him tear open the wrapper of one of the condoms she kept in her nightstand, before she opened her legs wide and received the hard length of him as he slid inside with a shuddering gasp. Her eyes snapped open in time to catch him gazing down at her with wild admiration, his hand coming down to guide one of her legs around his waist as he pushed in with slow, steady thrusts. 

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, cupping her face and running a thumb along her lower lip. Her mouth closed over his thumb and sucked, drawing a sharp groan from him. He withdrew from her almost entirely, before snapping his hips forward with renewed vigor. Joyce raised her hips with each thrust, her other leg coming up around his waist to accommodate his unspoken need for a deeper connection. He swore when she squeezed her inner-walls around his cock, tightening her legs around his waist. She wanted so badly to grasp at his ass, draw him deeper and harder within her, but the cuffs hindered her ability. 

“Harder,” she pleaded as she felt another hot wave scorch a path across her body. 

Jim moved so he was practically sitting on his knees, grasping at her hips so hard she knew his fingertips would leave bruises as he obliged her with sharp, punishing thrusts. The muscles in Joyce’s calves went taut as her toes curled and she let out a helpless staccato cry, the orgasm sharp and near painful as she shattered. 

“Shit, I’m gonna come,” Jim grunted, as his final thrusts came out slow and erratic before he collapsed at her side. 

They lay in silence, catching their respective breaths, Joyce’s legs shaking slightly with the aftershocks of what they had just done, an all encompassing warmth settling pleasantly over her body like a heavy quilt. 

“I want to hold you,” she finally managed. Jim chuckled and worked to free her aching wrists, tutting fussily at the red marks around them. He pressed little kisses along each before drawing her against his side. She burrowed her face against the crook in his shoulder and sighed. 

“Was it everything you dreamed?” he inquired cockily, before giving a heavy yawn.

“Mmm…” she murmured before closing her eyes.

“That’s what I thought,” she heard him murmur before sleep overtook her.


	4. Chapter 4

 

“Joyce, he’s very busy today and I don’t think…” the rest of Flo’s voice was muffled as Joyce Byers slammed the door behind her and stepped into Jim Hopper’s office. He was sitting at his desk, visibly bored without whatever phone call was currently tying him up at the moment, his heavy brow furrowed and his mouth pressed into a firm, irritated line. His eyes lit up and one corner of his mouth quirked up at the sight of Joyce, waving her to the seat in front of his desk and holding up one finger as he switched his attention back to the conversation he was having.

“Yeah… uh-huh. No, Pastor Charles, I’m not being indifferent, I’m listening. What does me not being in church have to do with the vandals again?”

Joyce rolled her eyes as she shucked off her coat and settled into the seat, smoothing her skirt as she crossed her nylon clad legs. Night was setting in outside of the window behind Jim, the setting sun casting an orangish glow through the blinds. She and Jim had a dinner reservation at The Lakeside, Hawkins newest and most high-falutin supper club - the two of them were celebrating the fact that they had finally gotten around to telling the kids that they were, in fact, in a very serious relationship. This had come about when Jonathan caught Jim leaving Joyce’s bedroom one night on his way back to the couch - the place he usually slept on Byers/Hopper family nights.

The conversation continued on, Jim’s tone taking an a noticeably irritated edge as Joyce sat and inspected her fingernails. Karen had invited her over earlier for a manicure and painted them crimson for the occasion. Joyce’s dress was a black, cocktail length affair with a bateau neckline, three quarter sleeves and a skirt that clung to her curves like a glove - her thick auburn hair was piled on top of her head in a coif that gave her an air of a vaguely unkempt Audrey Hepburn. All Karen’s work, and not at all Joyce’s usual style, but she felt pretty all the same. Jim kept giving her sly, appreciative looks as he took down notes.

“Did someone burn down the church?” Joyce asked, wrinkling her nose and sneering at the slightly audible hysteria in Pastor Charles’s voice. Jim had been late picking her up, and after spending twenty minutes being worried out of her mind, she decided to investigate the reason.

Jim brought his forefinger to his lips in a shushing gesture. ‘Toilet paper’ he mouthed, prompting an irritated groan from Joyce as she tilted her head back in the chair.

“No, we’ll definitely have our best men on it, Pastor and -… Oh, graffiti too, huh?”

“Heaven forfend,” Joyce gasped, standing up and making her way to Jim’s side of the desk on unsteady legs. High heels were not her friend, no matter how hot they made her impossibly long legs appear. At least they gave her a few inches to…

“Speaking of a few inches,” she snickered as she stood behind Jim and leaned forward, her hands caressing a path down his broad chest through his khaki uniform. She felt him stiffen at the contact, and then jerk up in his seat when she pressed a kiss along the side of his neck.

“Sorry Pastor, I’m just…. so shocked. The ‘F’ word you say? Sharing a sentence with our Lord and Savior?”

“Well, Jaysus Christ…” Joyce murmured, nipping at Jim’s ear. He tried in vain to swat at her, turning in his seat to give her a wide-eyed look. She took the opportunity to crawl into his lap; she could see him fight back a chuckle as he struggled with the phone, pulling it away from his ear to adjust the cord. Joyce rested her head on his shoulder, biting her bottom lip as she listened to the conversation.

‘Bad’, Jim mouthed, pressing a kiss on her forehead and resting a big hand on the small of her back to rub little circles against it as he sighed impatiently, giving up on taking notes. “Oh, there’s more? Hold on, let me find my notepad.” He gave Joyce a beseeching look and she nodded in understanding before sliding from the chair and hiding into the little alcove beneath the desk. Jim scooted his chair backwards to give her more space, even as he frowned down in at her in confusion for the odd choice.

Realization sunk in when Joyce slowly slid her hands up Jim’s thighs, resting at the front of his belt buckle. His jaw dropped, and his face went from chalky white to crimson in the span of a moment… but he did not dissuade her; in fact he lifted his hips, allowing her to unbuckle, unbutton, unzip and tug, pulling his trousers and boxers down past his knees. His cock was half-mast in response to the saucy bit of intrigue.

“Hold on a moment, Pastor.” Jim covered the mouthpiece and scoffed softly. “Really, Horowitz? This is a man of god!” There was no trace of seriousness in his tone, and Joyce winked in response.

“Ask him to pray for us poor sinners,” she teased, reaching out one hand to grasp at the large, smooth length of him. He gasped, swearing under his breath as she gave his cock a few experimental strokes. “It’s rude to keep him waiting like that, James,” Joyce teased when he gawked for too long.

“Straight to Hell, that’s where you’re going.”

“See ya around,” was all she said in reply, before leaning forward and taking his cock into her soft mouth. Jim let out a long, shuddering exhale before returning to his phone call.

Joyce felt a pool of heat between her thighs, spurred on by the kinkiness of her current situation. It had always been a sleazy little fantasy of hers, servicing Jim under his desk while he went about business as usual. She probably would have never acted on it, had she not been so irritated with Jim’s delay, and slightly buzzed from the glass of wine she had consumed before heading out to search for him - the fact that the pastor of her church (well, Lonnie’s church really, Joyce had converted when she married him, but never quite acclimated to what she considered to be relatively bland Protestantism) was the person taking up Jim’s attention gave the act an extra degree of naughtiness. She smirked at the thought, cupped his balls, and took him all the way to the back of her throat before pulling away, teasing the tip of him with her tongue, and taking him back into her greedy mouth to suckle and tease at a steady pace.

“Fuuuuuck,” Jim ground out, quite unable to help himself as he threaded his fingers through Joyce’s hair and guided her movements. “I - shit! - I mean, I’m sorry Pastor, yes… yes I guess I am very up-upset on your behalf but that’s no excuse to - yes, I will, and I-I’ll… mmmhmm, right away, right away - okay, bye!”

Jim slammed the phone down, and placed his now free hand between Joyce’s shoulders, grasping at the slinky material of her dress as she kept her pace, stroking his balls with a nimble forefinger as she tightened the grasp of her lips around his shaft. “Bad, bad girl,” he moaned, removing his hand from the back of her head to clamp it over his mouth and muffle his groans. Joyce felt his balls begin tighten and she increased her pace, humming against him in encouragement. After a few moments of torture, he came hard, grunting as he emptied himself into Joyce’s mouth.

When she pulled herself to her feet, her hair was falling out of its coif, and she just knew her lipstick was smudged. Still, he was gazing up at her in that way that used to make her vaguely uncomfortable - like she was the moon and he wanted nothing more than to bask in her glow forever.

“I’m guessing you’ll want to skip appetizers,” he teased lasciviously as he put himself to rights, a dopey grin on his face.


End file.
